


Sweet

by tariana



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: First Kiss, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-30
Updated: 2018-07-30
Packaged: 2019-06-19 01:26:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,889
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15499224
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tariana/pseuds/tariana
Summary: Harry Potter knew that after the second task of the Triwizard Tournament, something about his feelings for Ron Weasley had changed. Or, rather, perhaps he had simply become aware of feelings that had already been there for quite some time. He'd realized that, yes, Ron really *was* the thing he would miss most.





	Sweet

Summer Between 5th & 6th Year, the Burrow

Harry Potter knew that after the second task of the Triwizard Tournament, something about his feelings for Ron Weasley had changed. Or, rather, perhaps he had simply become aware of feelings that had already been there for quite some time. He'd realized that, yes, Ron really *was* the thing he would miss most.

He’d spent the time between the second and third tasks trying to figure out exactly what his feelings were, without much success. A fourteen-year-old is many things, but logical and rational are not among them. And a fourteen-year-old forced to face the horrors Harry had faced at the end of that year – well, Harry just gave himself credit for not going completely round the twist. His inability to best Voldemort once again, this time allowing the Dark Wizard to return to a living form, tormented Harry’s dreams as well as his waking hours.

When he returned to the Dursleys’ home at the end of the year, he’d thought maybe the distance from Ron would do him good. Maybe he could get over what he was feeling, and go back to just having best-mate-ish feelings about Ron again. Really, this whole liking Ron thing was VERY awkward, Harry thought, and wished fervently that he could just like girls as every other boy in his year appeared to do.

But it hadn’t happened. If anything, he had grown more attracted to Ron and more confused than ever. When he arrived at Grimmauld Place, he wasn’t sure whether he was grateful to finally be near Ron again, or sorry. Ron’s near-constant presence nearly drove Harry mental. Ron was beginning to finally grow into his height, and that meant that muscles were emerging where before there had only been sharp, bony limbs. Harry found himself having a hard time paying attention to what was being said by other people when Ron was around, and he was sure by the end of the summer everyone thought him either stupid or hard of hearing, they had to repeat things so often. 

Things did not improve when they went back to school. Harry found himself more concerned about Ron and his welfare than he ever had been before. Now that Voldemort was actually back, he knew he had more to really worry about. He found himself spending many a sleepless night, trying to come up with ways to keep Ron out of harm's way in any battle against the Death Eaters or Voldemort. He found himself behaving awkwardly around Ron – muttering and blushing and doing all sorts of odd things one didn’t usually do around one’s best mate. He found himself watching Ron more often – when Ron did schoolwork, when Ron lounged around the common room, when Ron got dressed or undressed... He found himself beyond embarrassed whenever he or Ron changed clothes in each other’s presence – and again, there was the blushing. He found himself insanely jealous if Ron so much as mentioned a girl. He found himself lying awake at night thinking of Ron in a variety of ways -- often less-than-fully-clothed and kissing Harry thoroughly. He found himself having dreams of Ron – the kind of dreams he supposed should feature girls, were he normal. But when had anything about Harry Potter ever been normal? What *was* normal, anyway? He found himself ashamed of having those thoughts. You were not supposed to have those thoughts about your best friend, Harry thought.

Beginning with the first term of fifth year, Harry alternated between wanting to look at Ron, because he thought Ron looked so good, and NOT wanting to look at Ron, because Ron looked TOO good. His best friend should not look so good, Harry decided firmly. There should be a law against it. His best friend should not have the bright blue eyes that were often full of good humor, which was attractive, or rarely, full of anger, which was somehow even more attractive. His best friend should not have freckles all over, freckles *everywhere*, freckles that made Harry want to touch each one in turn, first with his fingers and then with his tongue. Harry wanted to touch the freckles on Ron’s arms, the freckles on Ron’s face, the freckles on Ron’s chest and legs and back, and yes, the freckles on other parts of Ron it was best not to think of. His best friend’s hair should also not be fiery red and rather long, because that just made Harry want to brush it away from Ron’s face, that freckled face. And again with the freckles. Harry decided one night in fifth year that he definitely had a freckle fetish. All in all, this whole thing was quite embarrassing, and Harry very much wished for some sort of resolution. 

In short, Harry found himself in love with his best friend. And in love with your best friend was not a place Harry enjoyed being, especially when said best friend did not return your feelings and seemed completely clueless that you even had those feelings. Of course, perhaps clueless was better, when your best friend would likely punch your lights out if he knew you had those feelings. Being punched was not the sort of contact with Ron that Harry desired. No, not at all the right sort. 

Harry found himself trying to get rid of the feelings he had for Ron. He thought Cho Chang was rather pretty, for a girl, and decided he would like her instead of Ron. Apparently, deciding to like someone without much reason for it was a bit more difficult than Harry had thought, because one disastrous kiss and several nasty yelling matches later, he decided he was better off liking Ron. At least Ron didn’t yell at him – well, not usually, anyway. Besides, Cho didn’t have any freckles.

Things continued this way for the rest of fifth year – with Harry trying not to think about liking Ron – well, loving Ron, if Harry was honest with himself. Things had progressed beyond liking Ron and wanting to touch his freckles somewhere in the middle of fifth year, and had solidified into something much more substantial. Harry found himself mopey and sad some of the time, when Ron and he quarreled, and giddy and gleeful at other times, when Ron did something Harry thought was cute. Ron often did things Harry thought were cute, like snorting milk through his nose to gross out Hermione and Ginny. Teenage hormones were entirely awful things, Harry decided, if they made him think that was cute. Logically, there was nothing cute about it, but somehow, because it was Ron, it was okay.

Then there was that awful night at the ministry at the end of fifth year. So many of his friends were hurt because of him, Sirius went through the veil because of him, and Harry was just so sick and tired of everything in the world. He had lost so much already, and could have lost Ron, too. Ron’s injuries from the brain turned out not to be as serious as originally thought; however they had left scars that would always remain, to remind Harry of how Ron had followed him even when he could get hurt, and how Harry had done nothing to protect him. 

Harry was sullen and obnoxious that summer, even after arriving at the Burrow. Or perhaps especially after arriving at the Burrow. Grief and teenage hormones were not a good combination, and since it was so hot, Ron often went around shirtless, which didn’t help matters either. Ron was still as oblivious as ever about Harry’s feelings, and Harry vacillated between being determined to keep his mouth shut about his feelings and hope they went away, and knowing they wouldn’t and wanting to just shout at Ron, “I love you, you idiot!” so at least Ron could punch him and get it over with. Harry found himself despairing that things would ever be right again – or at least, as right as they ever got when you were the Boy Who Lived.

Then, one evening a few weeks before the end of the summer before sixth year, Harry found himself pressed up against the wall in Ron's bedroom at the Burrow, Ron's mouth covering his, and Ron's long, lean body pressed up against his in all sorts of delicious ways.

They'd come upstairs from dinner that evening and Ron had gotten out his Exploding Snap deck. He’d asked Harry what he wanted to do and Harry had responded that he didn’t care. He didn’t feel up to chess – Ron was so much better at chess than Harry that it always ended in Ron beating Harry soundly, and while Harry didn’t really mind Ron winning, it just seemed sort of pointless to even play the game if he was just going to lose anyway. At least the Snap game, he had some chance of winning. Right?

Wrong. The cards had just blown up in Harry's face for the third -- or was it fourth? -- time, when Ron stood up and walked across the room, turning away from Harry, and opening, then shutting with a bang, a dresser drawer.

Harry, assuming that Ron was bored with the card game, began gathering the deck together. He was concentrating on not getting singed again – Ron’s deck had belonged to Fred and George at one point and had a tendency to blow up even when you weren’t playing the game – and so didn't notice that Ron had moved from his place near the bed to stand near Harry. Quite near Harry, actually.

He dimly heard Ron say, "Oh, Merlin, Harry," and then he was lifted bodily from the chair he was sitting on (and when had Ron gotten so much bigger than him, anyway?) and pushed the short distance to the wall, where he leaned with his back against it, waiting and thinking that Ron in this proximity was both a very good thing and a very bad thing.

Ron's large hands gripped Harry's biceps and one of Ron's equally large bare feet was touching one of Harry's smaller, sock-clad ones. Harry could see the scars on Ron's arms standing out in sharp relief against his pale skin. The actual wounds from the brain had healed, but Harry assumed Ron would carry the scars from that night at the Ministry for the rest of his life, and they still caused him pain intermittently. Harry supposed they always would.

Harry had been careful for some time now not to allow Ron to get this close to him, fearing the reaction (or rather, erection, his mind supplied helpfully) that he reckoned was pretty much inevitable in that case. That reaction was threatening to happen now, and Harry swallowed hard, willing his traitorous body to cooperate, without much success.

Harry had been looking down at their feet, but he made the mistake of looking up at Ron and all hope of controlling himself went right out the window. He only had to hope Ron didn't notice. But, judging from what Harry was seeing Ron’s eyes, maybe it wasn’t going to be a problem.

Harry's brain was just beginning to wrap itself around the fact that yes, this was really happening, and Harry looked down, breaking the eye contact, suddenly shy. It was too much to even hope for all at once.

Ron's hands left Harry's arms, and Ron moved away a bit. A small noise came out of Harry's mouth at the loss of contact... a whimper, if Harry was honest with himself. Then Ron brought his hands up to cup Harry's face and tilted Harry's head up so that their eyes met again. Harry looked into his best mate’s blue eyes, suddenly seeing things in those eyes he had never even dared hope he’d see.

"Harry," Ron murmured. "Can I... would it be all right... if I kissed you?"

Harry simply looked at Ron and nodded, not trusting himself to speak. Ron... wanted to kiss him? 

Ron's lips were soft and warm when they touched Harry's, and his breath smelled of the Chocolate Frogs they'd been eating earlier. Would his mouth taste sweet like that? Harry wondered, and blushed furiously. He felt as if his whole body was threatening to burn up from the inside, and he was sure Ron’s hands must be scorching his skin where they touched along his jawline.

The forgotten Exploding Snap cards started to slide from Harry's hand, and there was a series of small explosions from the vicinity of the two boys’ feet. When the cards had all slid from his hand, Harry brought his arms up around Ron, feeling the muscles of Ron's back move under the old t-shirt Ron wore. One of Ron's hands was now tangled in Harry's hair and the other had moved down to rest on Harry's hip.

For Harry, who had been touched so rarely in his childhood, and usually with malice when he was – Dudley’s regular beating-ups came to mind – Ron’s gentle touches were bliss. Harry had never imagined someone so big could be so gentle. Most of the touches Ron had bestowed on him over the years of their friendship had been rough, friendly hugs or light punches, or slaps on the back, but never caresses. No, nothing like this. Ron had been tall as long as Harry had known him, but during fifth year, he had really started to grow into his height, muscles filling out where there had been lankiness before. Harry was admittedly a midget, he thought, especially when compared to Ron. They would certainly make an odd couple. And what was he doing thinking of them as a couple? Just because Ron had kissed him once didn’t mean anything. But, oh, he could hope.

Ron broke the kiss first, pulling away slightly and finding Harry's hand, twining their fingers together. Harry looked down at their joined hands, feeling the texture of Ron's Quidditch calluses and wondering what had just happened.

"I love you, Harry. I'm -- I'm *in* love with you."

Harry’s head snapped back up, and he swallowed and licked his lips nervously. For a moment, he couldn’t speak, then regained his voice.

"How long...?"

"How long have I wanted to do that?" Ron asked, and Harry nodded.

"Since fourth year."

Harry's heart sank. FOURTH year? If only he had known... he could have saved himself more than a year of wondering what Ron felt about him, wondering what he should say or do, wondering if he should say or do anything at all. He could have been kissing Ron for a whole year instead of trying to avoid touching him. He could have skipped that awful kiss with Cho and gone after what he wanted in the first place, rather than trying to convince himself that he fancied girls. Rather than trying to push his feelings away, he could have been content in the knowledge that Ron felt the same way.

"What about you, Harry? Is it safe to assume since you haven't hit me or run away that you feel this way too?"

"Yes, since fourth year as well," Harry answered honestly.

"Blimey," said Ron, laughing a bit. The laugh was not an entirely happy one. "Guess we could have saved ourselves a lot of trouble, couldn't we?"

"I wish I'd known, Ron. I wish you'd told me."

"I thought about it, after the Triwizard Tournament. But there was too much going on. And then there was Cho, so then I figured I must have been wrong thinking of you that way. But then when that didn't work out, I started hoping again."

"Why now?" Harry asked. "Why tonight, when you've had all summer?" For that matter, why not anytime in fifth year, or even part of fourth year? Harry had wanted to kiss Ron, had already thought about it often, when he pulled him from the lake after the second task... should he have done? What wondering might he have saved himself if he had just gotten up his courage then?

"I decided I had to know one way or the other. Plus, Hermione said some things in her last letter that made me think you might be okay with it."

The very perceptive Hermione did know about Harry's feelings for Ron, and also Ron's for Harry. They had each confided in her – Harry late in fourth year, Ron in early fifth – and she had encouraged each of them to tell the other how they felt. She didn't break either boy's confidence by telling the other one anything outright, however, preferring to let them figure it out on their own. Apparently, they had taken just a tad too long, and she had decided to help things along.

"Yes, I'm okay with it," Harry replied. "Actually, I'm more than okay with it."

Ron smiled then, a full, bright smile that had Harry’s heart lurching, and leaned down to kiss Harry again, a bit more firmly this time. Harry smiled against Ron’s mouth, then returned the kiss, wrapping his arms around Ron's waist and pulling the taller boy toward him, pressing their bodies together tightly. Harry's heart was near to beating right out of his chest as he and Ron kissed and kissed and kissed.

Harry had been right. Ron’s mouth did taste like Chocolate Frogs.


End file.
